Three Times Mary Told Dean About Angels
by Gina44144
Summary: Preseries, gen fic that sprung from a line in Houses of the Holy. Mary telling Dean about angels from the first time to the last.


Title: Three Times Mary Told Dean About Angels

Rating: G

Spoilers: Line from Houses of the Holy, that's about it.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Supernatural or the Winchesters, no matter how much I may want to.

Author's Note: The idea for this story came from this line from Houses of the Holy: "She used to tell me when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that's the last thing she ever said to me."

1

The first time Mary told Dean about angels she was washing their breakfast dishes in the kitchen sink while Dean raced his toy cars on the tile floor.

"Mommy," Dean said, abandoning his cars and standing up to look at Mary, "I have a question."

An amused smile came to Mary's face at her three-year-old's declaration but from past experience she knew to hide it. Dean took his questions very seriously and didn't appreciate anyone laughing at them. Mary wondered what today's question would be. Usually they ranged from "How do those little people get inside the TV?" to "Is Daddy's car _really_ a _girl_?"

Dean was inquisitive and curious and always wanted to know why things were the way they were. Mary never got annoyed at him, at the constant questions. She loved it, loved hearing the way his soft baby voice lilted up at the end of the questions, the way his eyes widened as Mary explained the complex relationship between his daddy and the Impala, and the way he looked at her as if she knew the answers to all the questions in the universe. She knew it wouldn't be long before he realized it wasn't true.

"Ok, baby," Mary said, turning to Dean and putting on her best serious expression, "what is it?"

Dean didn't answer, but crossed his arms across his chest and looked pointedly at the plate still in Mary's hand in an eerily accurate imitation of his father. Mary fought back her chuckle, masking it with a cough, and set down the plate to rejoin its cohorts in the sink. Wiping off her hands on the kitchen towel, she took a seat at the table and Dean solemnly nodded his approval, coming to stand in front of her.

"What's God?" Dean finally asked her, his nose scrunching up to wrinkle his forehead.

Of all the questions Dean could've asked, this certainly wasn't the one Mary expected. Neither she nor John was overly religious. She was raised Catholic and made sure to go to mass on Easter and Christmas, but Dean was always too little to take with her. She and John had been married in a Catholic Church and Dean had been baptized in one as well. But God and religion, she always thought she'd teach those things to Dean when he got a little older.

She guessed if Dean was asking about God, he was old enough to learn about it.

"God," Mary began, hesitating and trying to find the right words to explain something as complex as God to a three-year-old. "God lives in heaven way up in the sky and a long, long time ago, he created everything in the whole wide world."

"Everything?" Dean asked, his voice full of awe.

"Yep, everything."

"That would take like a gazillion years!"

"Actually, some people believe it only took 6 days."

"Six days?" Dean repeated, looking at Mary in disbelief.

"Well, God is very, very strong and can do anything you could ever imagine."

"Wow," Dean whispered, "is he stronger than Daddy?"

Mary laughed lightly, "Don't tell Daddy I said this, but yes."

Dean grew quiet at that, seemingly trying to wrap his head around the idea.

"You okay, kiddo?" Mary asked him.

Dean nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "But what does God **do**?"

"He looks after everyone, takes care of us."

"But there are so many people to take care of. There's you and Daddy and me and Grandma and Grandpa and Billy and his mommy and daddy and he's got seven brothers and sisters! And there are still loads of other people! How can God look after all of us?"

"He has angels to help him, Dean. They can fly around with their wings and watch over us."

"Angels," Dean said to himself softly, as if testing out the word on his lips. "They have wings?"

"Yep and a halo, which is a bright ring of light that shines around their head," Mary said. She knew she was only giving Dean the Hallmark version of angels, but she had no time to prepare for this talk and at least she wasn't telling him anything he wouldn't see on TV.

Dean nodded again, taking all this information in. After a few moments, he reached out and patted Mary's hand like her grandfather used to. His eyes locked onto hers and for a second, she didn't recognize him. Sometimes, at moments like these, when she looked at Dean she swore she saw the eyes of battle-weary soldier. Or maybe it was just John's eyes she saw.

"Thanks, Mommy," Dean said, stepping back and turning towards the living room. "I'm going to go play now."

Mary couldn't even find her voice until after he left the room.

2

The second time Mary told Dean about angels was the day after the first and it began when she was washing their breakfast dishes in the sink.

"Mommy," Dean said, "Can we go to the liberry?"

Mary stilled at the strange request coming from her son. He was an active, outdoorsy kid, who much preferred mud wrestling with his father to sitting still and reading a story. At bedtime, he usually wanted two or three or even four if he could manipulate one of them into it, anything to prolong the dreaded ritual of sleep, but he'd never asked to go to the library before. Dean never did cease to amaze her.

"Sure, kiddo, we can go to the lib-rary," Mary said, emphasizing the correct pronunciation.

"Li-berry," Dean tried to imitate her, but couldn't seem to get it.

Mary put down the dishes and wiped off her hands. She walked over to Dean and ruffled his hair, "The liberry it is. But you have to get dressed first."

"Okay!" Dean said, as he turned on his heel and ran out of the room and up the steps.

"Do you need help?" Mary called up the stairs.

"Mom-my," was his indignant reply.

Five minutes later, Dean came down the steps in an outfit that could only be described as creative.

He was dressed in bright orange sweatpants, which Mary was pretty sure were part of the pumpkin outfit Dean wore for his second Halloween. They came up to about his knees and his little mismatched tub socks were hiked up as far as they could go to make up the difference. Toping off his onsomble was a blue and white striped t-shirt and a University of Kansas Jayhawks baseball cap _backwards_ on his head.

"I'm ready," Dean announced, a proud expression on his face.

"Dean, honey," Mary began softly, "I can't let you leave the house like that. It might be considered some form of fashion neglect."

Dean looked at her strangely and tilted his head in confusion, "What?"

"Never mind. But basically, kid, you have to change your pants."

"But I don't wanna. I look cool like this."

Mary laughed and turned Dean around, guiding him up the stairs, "You look like a bum."

"What's a bum?"

"One of those dirty people who lives on the street and asks people for money."

Dean eyes light up at that one, "Cool!"

Mary just shook her head, "No, not gonna work."

"Oh, man," Dean said, but went along with Mary anyway.

Ten minutes later, the orange sweatpants replaced with a respectable pair of jeans and the cap placed correctly on Dean's head, they took the short drive to the library.

Once inside, Mary led Dean to the children's section and Dean's face took on a determined expression.

"Where's the beginning?" Dean asked her, looking around at all the bookshelves.

"Well, the beginning of the alphabet starts here," Mary said, pointing to a shelf on the right.

Dean nodded seriously, "Good, I don't want to miss anything."

He headed over to the designated shelf and Mary followed, her curiosity peaked.

Dean picked up a book from the shelf, and then turned to look at Mary hovering over him.

"Mom," he said in exasperation, "You can't watch. It's a secret."

"Oooh," Mary answered, "okay, well I'll be right over here, but I won't look, promise."

"Good."

Mary walked down to the end of the shelf, her back facing Dean so it looked like she wasn't watching.

After a few moments, she turned her head slightly, checking on Dean, and met his glaring gaze.

Well, wasn't she stealthy? Caught spying by her three-year-old.

Dean just looked at her pointedly and Mary nodded, put her hands over her eyes and turned her head away.

Dean seemed to be satisfied with this and Mary could hear him going through the books.

A couple of minutes later, Mary heard a soft thump and then another and there was no way she wasn't going to look now.

The sight that greeted her would've been amusing if not for the angry-looking librarian making her way over to Dean, who had just flung a number of books against the opposite shelf in frustration and had seemingly pulled every book that didn't meet his high standards off the shelf. He was sitting in a pile of books, some opened to pages with bright illustrations of bunnies and puppies and all other kinds of fuzzy, loveable animals.

"Dean!" Mary exclaimed, striding over to him.

Dean looked up sharply at the sound of his name, his expression innocent. "What?"

Mary knelt down next to him, closing the open books and trying to put them away. "You can't do that to the books. You have to be careful with them. They're not yours."

The angry librarian was standing over them now, glaring at them over the rim of her glasses. "Just leave it," she growled, "I'll put them away properly."

Mary forced a smile out, "No, it's okay. Dean'll put them away. He made the mess, he can clean it up."

Dean frowned at the prospect of picking up all the books, but a pointed stare from Mary kicked him into gear. He started to pick up the books, taking great care with them this time.

The librarian huffed at Mary's words, but backed off a little. She ended up standing at the end of the shelf, scrutinizing their every move.

"Give me the books, Dean, and I'll put them in the right order. Then you could put them _carefully_ back on the shelf."

"Okay," Dean whispered, his voice small, Mary's light reprimand leaving its mark.

Several minutes of silence passed, the only sounds coming from the books as Dean placed them back on the shelf.

When all the books were in their proper places, damage-free, Mary pulled Dean onto her lap.

He was tense at first, sad because he thought she was mad at him.

"Baby, I'm not angry," Mary said softly.

"'K," Dean answered softly, but didn't give in.

"Dean-ooo," Mary sing- songed, nuzzling her nose into his neck and tickling his belly.

Dean giggled and squirmed, "Mommy," he said after a little bit, "stop. It tickles."

"That, my little captive, is the point," Mary said as her tickling increased.

Dean's giggles got louder and Mary couldn't care less if the librarian was angry about that. She could never get enough of Dean's giggle.

When Dean was sufficiently tickled, Mary stopped and Dean relaxed back into her, his face red from laughter.

"I'm not angry," Mary repeated, "You just have to be gentle with the books."

"Okay," Dean said.

"Why were you doing that anyway?"

For a few seconds, Dean was silent, but then he answered, "I was looking for a special book, but I couldn't read them and I couldn't find the one I wanted."

"Why didn't you ask for help?"

Dean seemed offended at the idea, "I'm a big boy! I don't need help. I can do it myself."

"Dean," Mary said, "I know you're big now, but even big boys need help sometimes."

Dean shook his head in denial.

"Even Daddy needs help. How would he ever have clean clothes if I didn't do them for him?"

"Maybe," Dean said, "but I didn't wanna ask a _stranger._"

Mary hugged Dean tighter, "You don't have to ask a stranger. I can help you."

Dean turned in her arms so they were face to face. Then he took her face in his small hands and looked at her, his face too serious for a three-year-old. "Always?"

A chill inexplicably ran down Mary's spine at his question, but she pulled him close and whispered in his ear, "Always."

When Dean started getting restless, Mary released him, "Okay, now why don't you tell me what you're looking for?"

Dean looked at her sheepishly, his freckles standing out under the fluorescent lights, "I wanna book about an angel."

Mary's "aww" reflex kicked in automatically. And just when she thought her baby boy couldn't get any cuter.

"Well," Mary said, searching the titles of the books on the shelf, "let's see what we can do."

The book they decided on, one called _The Littlest Angel_, quickly became Dean's favorite.

It was about an angel named Milo, trying to earn his wings. His job was to watch over a little boy and his baby brother. Every night for the 3-week loan period, Dean begged Mary to read that book. By the end, she was pretty sure the kid had it memorized.

So when Mary found out she was pregnant, she went out and bought a copy of _The Littlest Angel_. When she handed it to Dean and told him the news, he nodded seriously and brushed one hand across the front cover of the book. And Mary didn't even have to tell him what being a big brother meant. He already knew.

"Don't worry, Mommy," Dean said, his green eyes exuding a wisdom Mary knew it was impossible for him to possess, "I'll protect him."

At his words, all Mary could do was stare in awe at this child she'd help create and wonder how in the world he became the one comforting her. Wasn't that her job? And the funny thing was, she didn't doubt that he would, that he'd protect his sibling, that'd he keep his promise.

She was so affected she didn't even have the heart to tell him that the baby could very well be a girl.

3

The last time Mary told Dean about angels, the breakfast dishes were long-washed and put away and Mary was reluctantly wearing her old white nightgown because the washer was broken and everything else was dirty. Sammy was asleep and John was home safe and everything was just the way she always wanted it.

It was Dean's bedtime and he kept pleading with her for book after book.

Mary gave in a few times, just because it was so hard to say no to those big green eyes, but after the fifth book, she had to put her foot down.

"Sorry, Dean," Mary said, easing herself off his bed, "but you have to go to sleep now."

"No," Dean resisted, grabbing onto her arm, "don't go."

"I'm tired, baby. I'm just going to go to sleep. I bet Daddy's lonely."

"No," Dean said, not letting go of her arm.

"Dean," Mary said, her voice a little frustrated, "come on. You have to let go."

Dean shook his head hard back and forth.

Mary was getting a little concerned. Dean had never done this before and it was unsettling.

"What's wrong, baby?" Mary asked softly.

Dean's eyes filled with tears, "I'm scared."

Mary gave him a comforting smile. "Don't be scared, Dean," she whispered. "I'm here and I love you and nothing bad is going to happen."

Then she leaned down and kissed Dean on the forehead, whispering in his ear, "Remember, sweetheart, angels are watching over us."

When she pulled back, Dean's eyes fluttered closed, seemingly comforted by her words.

To get up, Mary practically had to pry Dean's little fingers off her arm, but when she was free, she gave Dean one last kiss and headed towards the door.

For no reason she could think of, she lingered at the door longer than usual, just taking in her first-born. The shape of his small body under the covers, his baby face reflected in the moonlight. She loved him more than she'd ever thought was possible.

Closing the door, she walked to her room and slid under the covers, curling up into John's warm body.

Later that night, when Sammy cried and Mary got up and the fire spread, the angels watched, but could do nothing.


End file.
